One for You (pt. 1)

 While about the palace, within the grand spire upon which Dia is built, I found myself distraught by mine clueless meanderings. So much of these halls had encapsulated my tender years but wonder after their fashion I did not. For why were these walls made to be as the vines for the common folk's homes below my feet, if they were built upon such a grand mountain? For why had I sat so silently within the inner court, afraid to speak not for mine own safety but for the honor of another who was not there? For why had life been so serene in a tumultuous snow capped mount?

I am Princess, soon to be Grand Queen, Revillvia, of all of the Shattered Lands. From mine perch I do see this world's iniquity--what was wrought from the ignorance of man and given to the land before them to bare. It is my right that my desires be fulfilled, and I will accept no other outcome. For that reason I besought my father, Grand King of these Shattered Lands, and asked respite from the questions plaguing my mind. The senile man suggested I seek the answers not from he, but from the people below; that my heels be covered in the vile taint that the common trod each day. Preposterous. 

I had wallowed months, perhaps years in my curiosity, till I gathered my servants and my knights. I would not display myself so weak to such a useless King that I was to succeed by Divine Right. Mine maids and Knights found themselves perplexed, but it did not matter. I am their princess, and they are mine to command, so command them I did that they prepare the way down the mountain, crossed that fane of gemstone steps to the muck below that the pigs in the semblance of humans wallowed about in. I would bless them this once, for mine own pleasure, with my glory.


My first steps upon the gemstone terrace was met with the awe that it demanded. My Maids and Knights bowed as I took within my breast the open sky blessed to me by the Second Angel. It was a marvel to them that I would step about the palace, unprotected by its perplexing stone walls. It is no marvel. I am Princess, soon to be Grand Queen, Revillvia of all of the Shattered Lands. There is no fear that would beset a being so grand as I, the blood of Angels.

Each of mine steps was sharp, but beauteous as it was carried by the wind to the skies about the city that rested below my heels. I had truly been born for such glory, and I came to realize this more as I carried my divinity down to the slough below. It excited my pristine heart to think I would receive the worship I was due before my fool father passed me my rightful crown.

I was harrowed by my first upset as the ice of the mountains became the streams of the foothills. There was filth upon my heels. Mud, they called it. I had not seen such disgust since my time as an impudent child mixing my savor with the dirt of the perplexing courtyard I partook of each morning. Immediately my maidservant was dispatched to remove the taint of my boot. It was well until I had stepped upon another patch of tainted ground. Mine knights came to me next, removing the soil of me. The third time the scornful residue of earth that dare touch me drew my ire, and I removed it myself! Within me was the blood of the Angel of Storms and Sky. Such dirty elements would dare not touch me!

It was the eighth time that mine heels were freed of their disgrace that I chose to wear the vile ground's attacks as a symbol of strength. I would not falter under this loathsome world's attempts to break me! I strode with great dignity, though mine heels were soiled, unbothered by such feeble attempts on my sanity.

In the distance were the hovels the lesser beings lived within: the dens of filth from which my whore mother was plucked by my disgraceful father. Mine knights strode before me, allowing the lowly time to prepare their eyes for my glory. My maids went before me next, tempering the eye's with their lesser beauty. Finally, I shone brightly before them. In their disrespectful bewilderment, they made noise at me and my entourage. Happiness shone across their faces instead of the humility that should have driven their visages into the disgusting ground they toiled in with humility!

My face burned with emotion. I did not know its name, but I knew it burned within me. They were not worth my ire for their foolishness. Certainly they did not know or could not know how to act before one so grand as I. That is why I let them live, instead of ordering their execution. That is why I took their boisterous praise upon me the way I did. It was my prerogative, and nothing more.

Their delegate came before my secretary, beseeching my divine will of them. My intention was made clear that I was desirous of the knowledge kept within the stories and fantasies that they traded. These simple-minded fools did not understand my desires, however. I had no need of history lessons, for I was the maker of their history. Their teachings were useless as they were. Regardless, it had become dark with the shadow of evil that blotted the beauty of the Second Angel's divine sky from my eyes. A place was prepared of someone unworthy's home, that I might be settled within and comforted knowing my superiority to these common folk.

Upon the morrow I was treated to the finest food these folk could muster. It was passable, but not to my liking. Still, I was not so weak that I could not palette such pathetic tastes. As I took in my savor, I noted that the common folk sat round about their tables in a strange manner. I asked of mine maiden, why did they appear queer to me? She responded that they sat, more then thrice to a table. Tables made to hold more than three souls were an oddity to me, as I had never been placed among such at the Palace. Was this awkward practice the strange mechanisms of the poverty-addled mind?

I would not behold such strangeness before me while I took my savor! I commanded my knights that people would seat properly, no more than three to a table, while I was present. The foolish people found themselves perplexed, but obeyed my divine will, despite their lack of tables. When all was done, there was not any room for another soul at a table. All was as it should be, and whilst I continued my meal, mine maiden informed me that the eldest of the people desired my presence. Such impudence, but I relented. Upon viewing the sack of flesh, I understood fast that they wished to bask in my divinity before their time was done. I granted such a wish.

The Elder spoke to me, as I were a common fool as they were. They did not care of my status, because their care was upon the final hours of life they had. I could not order this fool's execution, for the punishment would be too little that I rob them such a meager amount of hours. Instead, I accepted the Elder's praise for my work making one of their silly tales come before their eyes.

Which tale was this, I wondered. The elder explained that upon the mountain from which I hail is a glorious court which the angels themselves partake of their savor, given to them by the mortal supplicants below. This was nonsense. There was no court higher than my very own, and certainly my servants served the blood of angels in me, but not the angels themselves.

As the elder spoke at me I came to realize their foolish stories had made them believe the lies of the wandering heart. I corrected the Elder, speaking that my servants had no other master before me. The Elder did not agree--the treasonous wretch--and insisted that I am proof living of the legend of a table that only seats three grand beings. He questioned why I sought only three souls to a table, and I answered because it is what is correct. To me I was shown that no more than three souls would sit upon the fane's arrangements whilst eating. As we spoke, the Elder's strange perception of my truths struck me. The Elder's tales were myth of my real truth. Was this the knowledge I sought, I inquired? The Elder did not know, but knew of another that might. The Elder was no historian, or teller of tales, but knew of one that lived within Everald's Core, who wrote of these grand events.

After I had partaken of my savor, me and mine setoff that we might seek this knower of tales and knowledge. Foolishly, part of mine knights warned it were a dangerous task to go so far. I would not allow such insubordination. They were cast from me and sent home, and my maids and loyal knights continued without them.

How long had my heels been scorned by the vile soil that had been named mud? I did not know, but it came to bother me again, and mine maids washed my heels and feet as we rested. How long were these strides I took upon myself to learn my curiosities? Was the land I was to inherit so large? Was this land so moist and uncomfortable? Why did the sky blot away as the sun left? Were their no illuminations prepared for my grandeur? This alien world that was mine to posses, but I questioned whether it was worth its retention, or discarding.

My legs, in all their divinity, felt pain within them. My chest felt pain, and I was covered about with disgusting fluid that smelled of the common folk. This was disgraceful that I would be allowed such turmoil, and I cast part of my maids away from my presence for their failure to harbor my perfection from the vile world. Never the less, even without their failure about me, I required that my divine heart stop beating within me so fervently. My loyal maidens removed their dresses that I would have the softest bed that could be mustered in such a disgusting world. I laid and attempted respite from the loathsome world, but gained little.

Upon the sun's radiant glow I woke to found my maidens in part of their number had been reduced. My Knights told that they ceased to breath in the night, because they were exposed. It was no fault of mine that they did not prepare proper quarters for me. I commanded they dress promptly to prevent the rest of their deaths, and a fire was made after the fashion of the lowly for them to return their warmth.

When all was ready, we began our march again. I would not be deterred from answers that belonged to me. Pain struck the heels of my maids and knights, but I shunned such horrid feelings. I was greater than the weakness of my supplicants. It was not until my maids called that my blood had been spilled that I took pause to observe. My sandals and their heels, had caused my flesh, my divine flesh, harm through days trodden upon the unprepared ground. I made such a sound that I could not describe, nor would I allow any other soul to speak of or hear again. The earth toppled me into its loathsome pores as I wailed, covered in vile, disgusting filth....

We made little progress that day, as I had needs to be cleaned and cared for to save me of my injuries. We made what the common folk call a camp. My maids cared for me, whilst mine knights provided for me. As night grew close, I ordered that my maidens, promised to be untouched by men all their days, lay with mine knights, that they would not die from exposure as they cast their dresses for my bedding.

The third day, we partook of vile savor that was not befitting of the ladies that we were, but was all the more nessicary that I overcome this weak, unworthy world. Again we set upon the road of sod that lead to Everald, the grand city of commerce that my whore mother was plucked from.

The ninth day came as a horrid sunburn. Glorious in its source, but treacherous in its working. Everald was before me and mine, but we were no longer the glorious parade that would bless the lesser beings with my divinity. We looked no better, and perhaps even lesser, than the common folk. For this reason I hid my beauteous nature. I did not announce that I was Princess, Soon to be Queen, Revilvia of all of the Shattered Lands upon our entry to the city.

The authorities and soldiers of the city whom guarded the trade that was rightfully mine from brigands and the lowly directed us toward a loathsome place called a tavern for our lodging. So full of filth and disgrace were their establishments that I ordered it be cleared and made well for one such as myself. My divinity I did not betray, but vast were me and mine's holdings that we could extort the usage of the building as long we saw it necessary.


It was five cycles of the sun and its blue sky that I prepared myself and mine that we be glorious to demand the knowledge being kept from me by this vile world. In that time, the tavern had become my palace and its workers my servants. The tables, ever so sinful, were replaced with proper tables and the image of glory was known within the building. Further attire was ordered and provided for me and mine maidens, that we not be disgraceful as the loathsome folk who slept among the vile dirts and muds of this world.

When I deemed we were ready, we set for this man I had been told of, that he would expound his knowledge to me that I no longer be plagued with unknowing. To a small hovel I was directed. Were I allowing the common folk to know my divinity, I would have them executed for the mockery, but I was tempering the people with my humble, serene nature, that they not know who I was.

Within this hovel I found an old man, but not so old as the Elder who directed me. In their senile age, the elderly treat me as one of their own. I am serene and humble, however, and will not betray my displeasure at their impudence. To him I inquired why it was so abounding that the sinful folk of the city sat more than three souls to a table. He gave pause, and asked why I inquired of its sinful nature. I would not be so low as to find myself lying to a lesser being, so I exposed my radiance, that he would know I was Princess, Soon to be Queen, Revilvia of all of the Shattered Lands.

This caused his lips to curl in a way I had oft observed. It was a self-soothing way the folk expressed their pleasure. Certainly he was in awe of my grandeur. To him I inquired again my question, and he spoke similar words to the Elder from who I was sent. But to my approval he gave more than simple ramblings of a tale that knew no reason.

To me, the teacher of fools told of the same court, where only three beings sat to partake of their savor. Mine palace was built in honor to this court, but before I could execute him for suggesting such a disgusting notion, he told that it was because it was the seating of the Second Angel, Airro Relle, that took place in this court. To him I reminded that her very blood flowed within me, and were he found a liar, I would render his holdings desolate for all time. In confidence and perhaps appreciation he spoke that it was within that court, that Airro's first appearance to the mortals was made. He began to regale me with a tale, explaining why three souls sat to a table within the grand palace... 

Shatelle, Savior of Darkness

In my dream I am holding a key. A crystal in the shape of a key. The shape of this crystal is of no matter. All that matters is what it is made of. The An call it Harmonia, powerful crystal that resonates with the sound of the world. As it resonates, it provides my people with miracles and power. It sustains and founds our way of life.

I must bring this key to the edge of the motherland, my home the An call the Dark Land. An fear the darkness. They are weak and gentle, sustaining their beauteous hearts on sensations and joy. They are not warriors like we are. Hatred does not flow through their blood. Despite knowing this, I cannot convince them, or my people that we are not enemies. We are of little consequence to each other. My people demand wrath, slothfulness and gluttony; The An demand greed, envy and lust. I alone am left with the pride of both peoples, and of myself. I need them, and yet refuse them.

The world around me is dark and unloving. The people do not harbor me. The An do not accept me. I walk alone down a path known only to my own feet. My wings are tattered, burnt, slashed and frayed. Each step burns my heart with the feeling that my sacrifice will only be met with betrayal. Each step drives small bits of pain into my tender feet that have only known the freedom of the sky.

I am walking to the edge of a cliff, the edge of my lands, covered in ash, and jagged rock. No one has ever seen the other side of the burning mountains, but our hearts know it. Only fire and death await those who venture into its hateful valleys.

The ground burns. I cannot breathe the miasma anymore. I am dead already, but my body is forced to move by my soul that refuses to end its mission...I leap...no...I simply fall over the edge of the cliff to the hateful water and deadly rocks below.


I gasp awake, letting out a cry. The dreams are becoming more and more vivid. I look down at my tender feet and see they are still fine. I reach back to feel like dark, glossy wings in their full untarnished beauty. One of my canine ears twitches and alerts me to the approaching  body to my right.

"Shatelle? Are you alright?" This is an An speaking to me, a being not unlike me, but without the blessings and strength of the world they live on. This one is male. Its care of me is sexually driven. It finds me lovely to view and speak with. The females of my kind share much in common with their females. Our genitalia are in the same areas, and preform the same functions. The An are not bothered as much by our slight differences as my kind are.

"I am alright. Thank you." I reply. This being, this An, cares only for my well-being. They do not see me for my worth, or my purpose. I find it a strange mix of insulting, but take comfort in knowing this is customary of them. The more they adore something, the more they see to its care and provide for it. My people are much different. The more we are provided for, the more we see something's care. How does one care for something they provides no use? It is a silly concept, the An's concept of affection, but it is not derogatory treatment of me, but what their society has grown to do.

"Let us know if you need anything, alright?" It speaks to me, attempting to comfort me. It's soft, soothing voice attempting to mimic that of a father. It does not know it only makes itself sound weaker. Less useful.

"Of course." I reply....


I arrived in the An settlement they call Black Mission. Black is to describe the color they preceive my homeland, while Mission describes interactions with other ethnic groups for the purpose of spreading culture. It is an appropriate name, as far as names go. My purpose here is to seek out the An and their knowledge of the beings they venerate; the beings they call Angels.

Many years ago, before my birth, my people received a message through the harmonia of a beautiful An-shaped being. It was female, the way the song weaver described it, attributing its form to lust and desire, despite it being An. This is what they call perfection. They said she had black, glossy wings with sparkles of gold and copper within them. She wore steel like she was unclothed. Her being was wholly otherworldly, but they could not deny how comfortable they felt with her visage.

When I grew to a breed-able age, an old shaman recalled the account upon seeing my tempting form. I have differences from this being but my likeness is remarkable, according to those who have experienced the vision. I am similarly adorned with beautiful, black wings that sparkle with gold and red flecks, centuries worth of careful breeding.

During a contentious time, An had arrived on the land's eastern shore, being born of the hateful water. We attempted to exterminate this intrusion, but the An were good at defending themselves. Similarly, they wielded powerful magic, like our harmonia. They did not seek out to attack us, and only defended themselves at first. However as they proliferated, they claimed more land, driving more conflict between our people. Currently, there is uneasy peace between us, which has allowed my safe passage to their Black Mission.

I assumed I would need to explain myself to these An. The language barrier between our people would be too steep, and years of discovery would be required. Instead, they looked upon me with awe. "Angel" they called me. "Tahi Relle" they called me. While the language barrier between us prevented many functions, they knew why I had arrived. I came to learn of Angel for my people's benefit.

The building they took me to was the building they drove my people's curiosity into the one they called Angel. Within and outside this building was craft displaying similar likenesses of "Angel". I learned there was more than one such "Angel", and my likeness was modeled after one in particular. The An's Angel would be here, or so we thought. Instead, it was a building where the An assembled to have visions of Angel.

Here I have been learning of the An, and their culture, and their beliefs. My people know the harmonia, the producers of all things. The An know the Angels, the givers of all things. My people are thus focused on the use they are to the harmonia, the world, and their people, while the An are focused on what they can gain from the Angels, the world, and their people. There are parallels between us, and neither group denies that our origin must be divine in nature, due to our likeness to each other's creators. Whether either's birth is benevolent or malevolent is left to debate.

The An are quite curious. I grow to adore them like pets the more I learn of them. Instead of being born from the waters of Hate, the ocean to the west of the homeland, they are tamers of it, riding upon constructs of wood and fabric. Rather, they attempt to tame hate. The An are here because their taming vessels failed them.

Instead of being slaves to Lust, they tame it through ritual and self sacrifice, attempting to appease not only their desire, but the desire of the object of their affection. This is the basis for their procreation, unlike my own which is based on merit and forceful claim. I ponder what would happen if an An were to attempt to claim me? Would the seek feelings of "Love" afterwards? Would they use me as a breeding vessel? I believe it would be the later, as the An's concept of union is so alien to me, one who goes outside of their practiced and accepted ritual would certainly not seek to return to such ways.

Their greed and desire to possess material gain is a most baffling system. I have had it explained to me, and see it in action through the trade and wealth being garnered in the Black Mission. What I cannot fathom is how such a system would have come about. Value is assigned, arbitrarily, to objects, called "coins" and "currency". These objects are useless on their own, but they are used for symbols of wealth. The mere existance of these objects places value and wealth upon other objects due to their desire of the objects. Rocks are not desired, because they are easy to obtain. Their value is low. But if one wanted to create a fortification, they would desire stone. Then, they would provide their coin for the stone, instead of gathering it themselves. Stone then becomes valuable while the person with coin desires it.

I will learn more of these An. They will learn of me. I will become "Angel" to them. They will become "Follower". I will become their supreme, and they my lesser.

The Ashes of Passion

I approach a building that looks like it used to be a chapel humans dedicated to Gweiss, Angel of Hunting, or something like that. It is a stone building with pretty stained glass windows at its forefront, as well as a statue of Gweiss herself. I Can tell a lot of care and time went into this building's construction. That, perhaps, is what I admire most about these pathetic beings. They become so enthralled by concepts that they defile nature in spectacular ways. It is an abomination to the natural order of hunting and nature, and yet you cant help but appreciate just how much passion went into this building's construction.

The entrance is around the side, and up some stairs. It's rather awkward and becomes more so once you see the back of the building. One might assume the back half collapsed, but I see it differently. The stones that lead into the "new" woodwork were not displaced or out of alignment. The woodwork and the stones fit together seamlessly. The edges where they've been hewn, although weathered with time, were crisp and straight. The chapel had been half built, one half the beauty of humanity, the other half intentionally left open to the world. Humans could be marvelous when they were put to task.

However, now the beautiful skylight view was covered by wood; worked and cut and beveled into place to turn this holy site into a true abomination. It's a building now, just like any other that houses the vermin and scum of this pathetic race. But this is where I want to be...

I met a man within Klaime, shortly after abandoning Yosho, who had a sword with a similar crossguard as Yosho's. I Asked him about it and he directed me to a boarder merchant. The merchant said he got it from a blacksmith around this area, and the smith allowed me to find this building here, filled with sword's like Yosho's. This building is where Yosho received his sword after pinning me to a tree. It stands to reason he trained here, since he'd been so comfortable acquiring one of their swords. I Want to see what could make a young boy powerful enough to defeat me. I want that power for myself, and then I'm going to murder all of them. Then I'll find Yosho, and make him mine again.

I open the door and step inside. There is a wooden, upper area that looks like a stage that overlooks an area below with sand and wood training platforms. The stage has a lot of met sitting and relaxing and overall looking uselsess. I Can understand the caste system here. The worthless ones sat up here while the ones worth training trained below. I Look down to observe more tables around the fighting pit, several men breathing heavily or sweating or both. A lot of them looked like they'd be worth a good fuck. But strangely...none of them appealed to me.

As I open the door, a bit of scum hops up from a chair and begins to speak to me. It's tone is cocky at first, but he quickly gazes over my curves but somehow seems disappointed? "Geez! Another one." He complained. Another what...?

"I'm looking for Yosho Ki'Sing." I Demand of him. I know Yosho isn't here, but I wont let them know I know that.

"Look, miss. We're not looking for applicants right now..." The scum begins to ramble. That wasn't what I asked, and it pisses me off that he thinks I'd subject myself to his hierarchy. I step forward aggressively. I Certainly do not look threatening. I have a body made for fucking, and I always leave that well displayed. But my intention is clear. I will harm this filth if he doesn't give me what I want!

"Woah, there, girl. Don't hurt yourself now...." He attempts to warn me, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword he wears.

I strike him across the jaw. I feel a tingle run down my spine as my mind registers the bones of her jaw dislodging from his skull through my fist first, then my ears with a satisfying, grotesque crackle. I Can't help but smile. It feels so good.

Several men jump to their feet in response, ready to assault me. I want it. I Want to kill them all. I Want to tear each one of them limb from limb as they flail helplessly against me. I want to feel my claws sink into their soft pathetic skulls.

"What's going on up there?!" A Booming voice calls from the pit below. Commanding, powerful and used to shouting at the shit he keeps under his boots on this stage. It's enough to draw my attention before I pounce on the next unlucky victim, and the clamor of training in the pit stops. The hall goes quiet aside from the little beta male groaning in pain from his shattered jaw, laying at my feet. He was in charge. He's the one I want.

He's old, perhaps forty or more. He wears a well trimmed beard and a stern, demanding face. He has a little girl next to him who has inherited some of those features. When she grows up, she'll have sharp, keen eyes like her father. Those eyes! They're similar to Yosho's. He holds his sword the same way Yosho does! This man must be the one who taught Yosho! This man is the reason for my suffering.

"I'm looking for Yosho Ki'Sing. Who gave him his sword?" I Demand of him. Everyone wants to attack me, but they remain still and uneasy. They are waiting for permission.

He looks at me. He sees...something. My time looking him over gave him time to look me over, and he found something more valuable. "I did. I don't have one for you." He dismissing me and turned around, going back to his instruction.

Fucker! No! I will NOT be denied! I begin to march down the steps. A man gets in my way and I grab his wrist before he can raise his sword, snapping it effortlessly. He cries out, and the brawl begins.

I don't recall how many people tried to block my access to their leader. Anyone who did lost a limb from me breaking, or removing it. As I clawed through his minions, the man gave his daughter a big, warm hug, and directed her over to a nearby table. He was going to let her watch me murder him? It gave me an awkward feeling, somewhere between arousal and respect. That's who I'd want to father my children, if I intended to have any. No reason to shield that child from the truth of combat...not in a place like this.

I finally make my way down the stairs and the man directs his men to back off. The way he looks at me its like he's seeing an old friend. Someone he knows. Do I know this man? Why is he so comfortable with me?! It's making me angry!

I Charge at him and he does exactly what I expect him to do. The step-to-the-side thing Yosho did the second time we met. I am ready for it and I whip around to face him, deflecting his blade with my arm. He's good, though, and brings his guard up in time to block my attempted claw for his chest. It wasn't as crisp and fluid as Yosho's. He must have been tred from training the next generation of Yoshos.

I Dive for his legs, in an attempt to take him down and he pivots, bringing his sword down toward my head. I dont want to risk a head injury so I roll to the side. He kicks me as I do and it puts my landing slightly off balance, opening the way for a follow-up strike....or it should have? He didn't follow through. He waited for my attack again? I understood Yosho did a lot of standing and waiting for me to mess up when we fought...but once we were fighting he didn't just...stop.

I straighten myself. I'll punish him for his mistake! I let loose a forceful bolt of fire. I aim for his feet since I dont want to cause too much damage to this building yet. He dodges out of the way of the first, then second bolt as I follow-up behind the magical assault, prepares to meet the blade that would be ready for me. But when the fire parts from my vision, he isn't ready with a sword pointed toward me. My hands are forward, ready to grab the blade, but its not there. They collide with his chest in a double-fisted punch I wasn't prepared to perform, so it doesn't harm him nearly as much as it should.

He staggers back, trying to remain in his guard as his daughter calls out in distress. Of course she doesn't want to see him die. Why would she? He turns and lets her know he'll be alright, and then I realize....Yosho never stopped looking at me. Even when he really did look away, it always felt like there was an oppressive stare directed at me, like a wolf watching its prey. This man looked away. He stopped caring about the fight.

This man wasn't Yosho's trainer. The finely tuned principles of combat I saw in Yosho are not present in this man. He isn't as adaptive, his footwork is different. This man definitely fought Yosho, and was impressed with his skill, just like me. Now he was mimicking Yosho to try and capture that power...just like me. I don't know why, but I find it insulting. Yosho belongs to me, not him.

I Leap from my spot, setting off an explosion behind myself that propels me like a rocket into the man. He topples over, the wind knocked out of him. He cant focus and fails to defend himself from the demon straddling him. He tries to grapple, but can't see his target. I strike him in the face several times, but he refuses to look at me. I break his ribs, but he refuses to look at me! I Grab him by the collar of his garments, raising him close to me, but he refuses to look at me! I Slam him into the sand, raising him again and slaming him back down. He looks everywhere, randomly, tossing his head about like he has no control over it, BUT HE REFUSES TO LOOK AT ME!

"You're not him!!" I heard someone the sounds like me scream as I slamed him into the ground repeatedly. Perhaps she said it more than once. I am going to continue slamming this imposter into the ground until he is paste! I Will make him a puddle of lies and drown the rest of these pretenders in it.

A sharp pain in my back breaks my rage momentarily. Something broke my flesh. Its not very deep, almost negligible, but it had the potential to become worse if I let the threat keep stabbing me. I whirl around and grab the person's chest and throw them with all my force at the window....and then I feel my heart stop as the shrill cry of a little girl rings out as it travels across the room and through the window. I had grabbed the girl by the head and thrown her. I'm frozen in horror of what I had done, but the humans react quickly. I simply must die now. Beating up or even killing a mercenary leader is one thing, but killing a child is not forgivable.

I am ready to surrender to them. Let them slowly pierce and chop me until I loose my pointless life. The first sword collides with my stomach, failing to pierce it. The second bashes me across the skull from behind, cutting the yellow ribbon holding my hair back, but not my hair or my flesh. Regardless, I fall over in dismay, my hair covering my face as the sword strikes pierce me bit by bit as they realize what they're dealing with.

I close my eyes, and as I do, I hear the pained sobbing and gasps for air of the man next to me, the clamor of the guildhall as they looked for better things to kill me with, and the wheezing of a child. Wait? Child? It's like electricity through my body. I Can hear her labored breathing for just a moment, her sobs. As I get up I loose the sound to the room filled with battle. A mace bashes me in the back of the head, forcing me to the ground again. That one really hurt. But I can't let them stop me. That girl will die if I don't get to her! I Bring myself up again and a man tackles me off balance into the ground. NO! I break his shoulder. He will never use that arm again, but I don't care.

I get back up and a sword lodges firmly in my gut, eliciting a scream from me, but I refuse to stop. I grab that man's collar bone, digging my fingers into the shoulder and ripping the bones free of their host. I claw, kick and fight my way to an opening. I need space. I don't care how many I have to kill, as long as I don't kill that child.

Finally I'm free of their struggles enough to leap out the window with all my strength, landing on the ground directly over top the horrified girl. She's cut up horribly and I've bruised her beautiful face. She's wheezing and gasping and trying to cry. I cry for her as I begin to heal her with my magic, removing all the physical scars I've caused her. I stand, looking down at the now healthy girl who looks at me like I am a monster. Why does this hurt?

The sound of men comng down the stairs and guards coming to the rescue breaks me free of my moment of horror, and I begin to run into the streets as fast as I can.